From: "Katherine F." Title: "And She Broke Your Throne: A Noli Me Tangere Interlude" Author: Katherine F. Disclaimer: She doesn't really come into this story, but anyway, Dana Scully belongs to people other than me. Distribution/archiving: ScullySlash archive: yes. Scullyslash-stories: yes. Elsewhere: also yes, but please let me know first. Spoilers: none Feedback: the bestest gift a writer can get. katherinef@softhome.net Summary: Takes place after NMT IV. Flipper talks to a friend about what's been going on. Notes: This is what happens if you listen to Jeff Buckley over and over and over again... "And She Broke Your Throne" by Katherine F. "Your faith was strong but you needed proof, You saw her bathing on the roof, Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya She tied you to her kitchen chair, And she broke your throne and she cut your hair, And from your lips she drew the hallelujah..." -- Leonard Cohen, "Hallelujah" Flipper's apartment is small. Not even a very good realtor //estate agent// could get away with describing it as "bijou" or "compact"; it's just plain small, and there's no getting around that. It doesn't bother her. She grew up in a huge house on Ardenza Terrace, to be sure, an old house with lots of little nooks and crannies where a child could hide, but she has slept on far harder beds than the one she's sleeping on now. Or rather, the one she *isn't* sleeping on. Sometimes she has bad dreams, about the blackness that wells up in her mind when life turns in the wrong direction. Sometimes in winter the heating makes mysterious and worrying *chugga chugga* noises that keep her awake. Tonight, however, all that keeps her awake is the bubble and churn of her own thoughts. //I should have just told her to get stuffed. But I missed her. It was good just to see her again. Shit. Katina's going to think I'm nuts. Oh, and I'm not?// She rolls onto her back and watches the ceiling. Every now and then a car passes the building and lights up the room briefly; when this happens, she can see the damp patch on the wall to her left and the stain on the ceiling that looks sort of like a swan if she squints. It's a big, wide bed she's got, big enough for two, but only one other person has ever slept here. //Danny...// At that thought something in her snaps, and she sits up. No point lying there and brooding all night. No point pretending to sleep when a drugstore full of pills wouldn't make a damn difference. She reaches over for the phone -- a cheapo cell that chokes if she tries to call anyone outside Baltimore. What she needs right now is not to brood, not to sleep, not (Goddess forbid) to get drunk, slouch down to Lulu's and leer at the floor staff. What she needs is a shoulder to cry on. What she needs is a sounding-board. She hefts the phone in her hand, considering. She *could* call Yvonne, though Yvonne's been getting pretty cosy with that Deenie girl lately and might not like being interrupted. Not that the mental picture that calls up isn't entertaining -- but Flipper knows Yvonne (in the Biblical sense) and knows she gets ugly when she's pissed off, and guilty afterwards, and Flipper has neither the patience nor the energy to deal with Yvonne's conscience. Which leaves Natalie, who's in Annapolis and thus unreachable, and Katina. She dials the number and breathes deeply. In for four, out for eight, like her yoga teacher says; deep and relaxing and cleansing and maybe she won't be in and -- "Hi, Katina here." "Um... hi, Tina." "Flipper?" She yawns noisily. "Jesus, girl, do you know what time it is?" "Time I got a watch, maybe." "Oh, hardy har har. No, but seriously, Flip, what's up? This better be an emergency or the next time I do your hair, I'll give you the Homophobia Haircut." Flipper laughs despite herself. She and Katina have known each other for so long and have so much in common that half their conversations are in a sort of shorthand, natural to them but impossible to explain to outsiders. Sometimes that's all she needs to centre herself, a half hour or so of being an eejit with her best friend to drive away the dark. Not now. "Yeah, Tina, it's an emergency." "What is it, then?" The other woman's voice is wary, braced for the impact of a revelation but ready to slip into jocularity at the first sign that this is what's needed. Even over a bad line, Flipper can read the slightest nuance of Tina's voice; and she knows Tina can do the same. It makes talking to her easier, and infinitely more difficult; because she *can't* lie to Tina, no matter how hard she tries. No matter how tempting it is. She takes a deep breath, and tells the truth. "Danny." "You're not dreaming about her again, are you?" "No. No, I -- I saw her." "Saw as in saw or saw as in *saw*?" She sighs. "Saw as in saw, ran away from, got grabbed by, had a coffee with...shit, Tina, I almost kissed her." "Flipper -- " "She said she was sorry." "And how much does *that* mean?" "I don't -- Tina, you weren't *there*. She was crying." "Crying. Hm. And that makes it okay?" "No. But it does mean she meant what she said." "Maybe. Maybe, but..." Katina heaves a sigh heavy with the memory of unheeded advice, and for a brief instant Flipper wishes that she'd listened to her friend more, done as she said, and not just because she's usually right, but because she knows how much it hurts her when Flipper goes off on her own and gets her heart broken, leaving Katina to pick up the pieces. She knows that there have been times when she could have been a better friend. Now, though, she needs Tina -- her support, her advice, and, yes, her love -- far too much to be unselfish. "I don't know what to do, Tina. I mean, I told her I'd be in touch. I even gave her a flyer." "A flyer?" "Uh-huh." "You think she'll come?" "I don't know. I don't even know where she lives." A pause. She leans her head back and stares at the poster she'd put up to cover up the flaking paint. "Do you want her to come?" "Yes." The word is quiet, exhaled rather than spoken. So soft -- she remembers Danny's forehead touching her own, words breathed onto her lips. Sweet breath. Soft words. "...regret it?" "Uh -- what?" She hasn't been listening; the thought makes her blush. What was that she was thinking about being a better friend? "I said, you shouldn't make promises like that unless you're sure you won't regret it." "You can never be sure." "Not completely, but...Flipper, what are you getting into?" "I don't know. I don't know, I -- " "Do you even know what you want?" //Touch. Kiss. The weight of her head on my breast as we slept. The heat of her eyes burning into mine.// "...yes." "Well?" "Well, what?" "What do you want?" "I want..." Impossible to put into words that rush of memory and half- memory, that flow of blood and prickle of skin. Or perhaps not impossible; perhaps only...difficult. //I *want*.// "What's so special about her, anyway? That you're beating yourself up about it? I mean, never mind the fact that you have the biggest ability to take unnecessary shit that I have *ever* seen, this woman, she -- I mean, God, Flipper, you see her *once* and she disappears for no reason, and now all of a sudden you want to be her girlfriend? What is up with that?" "I didn't say that." "You didn't say anything." Another sigh, this one frustrated. Flipper suddenly wishes that she hadn't called at all, or at least not *now*, when Tina's tired and most likely doesn't feel like talking. "It's hard, Tina. I don't know what to say, it's -- it's not like anything I've ever felt before or -- or something I can put into words, you know? Not without sounding stupid." Tina grunts at that, amused. "Flipper, it's me you're talking to, remember? I already know how stupid you are." Flipper smiles, though she can't laugh, not now that Tina has her thinking about It. The Thing. The Complication. The thing that stopped her from blowing up in Danny's face and running away. "It was...it was the way she looked at me. The way she touched me. It was like a prayer, almost. Like...worship. Does that make sense?" "Sort of," says Tina, and Flipper begins to think that maybe she *does* understand, or could, if she could only find the words. "Tina, she -- " Deep breath. In for four, out for eight. The most important thing, and the most difficult to say. She trusts Tina to love her and be there for her, but there have been times before when she has opened her treasure box and had her most precious memories mocked. Another deep breath. It was never Tina who mocked. That's important too. "She *what*?" "She kissed my scars." Silence from the other end; then a long exhalation. "I see," says Tina, and Flipper starts to breathe again; because she *does* see. The understanding in her voice is reluctant; but it is there. "I know it's nuts, I just -- I have to give it a try, Tina, you know?" "Is it a love thing?" "Love?" Funny; the word "love" had never come into it, even in her most secret conversations with herself. And there were so many reasons for that..."How do you know, Tina? When it's love? How the fuck do you know?" "I believe the traditional answer is 'you just know'." "That's not very helpful." "Yeah, well, unfortunately that's as helpful as it gets. I mean, it's not like there's a litmus test or something...so you're not sure?" "No, I'm not. But you know me. Sometimes I'm not even sure of my own name." "Flipper..." Another pause. Flipper can picture her friend now, biting her lip the way she does when she's concerned. She feels her stomach start to flutter. Something serious is coming up. "Flipper, I think you *are* in love. But I still don't think this is a good idea. I mean, did she even tell you why she left?" "She said she was afraid." "Hm. Figures. Question is, is she *still* afraid?" "I don't know that. I know I am." "You should be. You don't even know this woman." "I know her better than you do." "Mmm." Conceding the point, but not admitting defeat. "I can't stop you from doing whatever you want, Flipper, but I don't want to see you get hurt, and getting together with someone who left you like that is probably *the* most efficient set-up for heartbreak that I've ever come across." "Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe she really *is* sorry. Maybe she's changed. You ever think of that?" "Maybe." Another sigh. "Listen, Flip, you do what you have to. Just -- be careful, okay? I hate to see you hurt." A lump rises in Flipper's throat. Goddess, but she needs to hear this. She *knows* it, but -- "Thanks. For, y'know, putting up with me." Katina's voice is soft now, intimate in the way of friends or sisters. "Any time, Flip. I mean it. Take care." "I will. Thanks again." She hits disconnect and lies back down on the bed, her eyes closed. //Love...// It's a strange thought. A disturbing thought. Yet when sleep steals over her, her dreams are warm. [end] -- Katherine F. Church of Alex Krycek, OBSSE, League of Outraged Noromos, Serge http://netdump.com/users/purity_brown/purity.htm Today's Quote: "Catholicism is 'nifty'?" -- dialogue, _Oz_